


Still Feel

by MintChocolateLeaves



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Brothers, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-18 03:45:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18112616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MintChocolateLeaves/pseuds/MintChocolateLeaves
Summary: “Why are we here, Klaus?”“That depends brother of mine, are you a creationist, or more realistic?” Klaus leans back against the bench he’s sat on, kicks his feet up against it too. It’s cold, uncomfortable, but Klaus has slept in worse conditions. “Myself, well, I’m agnostic, so we’re probably here because science.”Diego says, “Not that crap Klaus. Why’re we in a fuckingjail cell?”





	Still Feel

**Author's Note:**

> An attempt at humor. I hope you guys enjoy this oneshot that very slowly got away from me and grew in size.

“Why are we here, Klaus?”

Klaus supposes that there’s only one answer to that question. He supposes that maybe he owes his brother an explanation but really, it’s probably a story and a half.

“That depends brother of mine, are you a creationist, or more realistic?” Klaus leans back against the bench he’s sat on, kicks his feet up against it too. It’s cold, uncomfortable, but Klaus has slept in worse conditions. “Myself, well, I’m agnostic, so we’re probably here because _science_.”

Diego leans over and levies Klaus with a glare.

He says, “Not that crap Klaus. Why’re we in a fucking _jail cell?"_

Klaus blinks, grins up at his brother and says, “Oh, _that?_ Why didn’t you just begin with that?”

Diego lifts a hand, pinches the bridge of his nose and inhales very, _very_ sharply. Klaus imagines it’s the kind of sharp breath one takes in whenever they feel like ripping open their throat or removing their tonsils or something equally as crazy.

Does his brother still have his tonsils? So much has happened since Klaus has left, and he hardly remembers the trivial things from back then.

“Hey,” Diego says, grabbing hold of his attention, taking it hostage. “Don’t get distracted.”

“Alright,” Klaus sighs, pushing himself up. “I’m pretty sure it started with being denied entry into the club – oh wait, no, earlier than that. Okay, I’ve got it. We’re here because of the ghost who wanted flowers.”

* * *

It all starts with a beginning that seems more like an ending. With withdrawal pangs, a hole of emptiness that sits in Klaus’s stomach that is a hunger for something, even if he himself isn’t quite sure if it’s for food or the pills he hides across his person.

Oh, and rehab.

He doesn’t stay for very long. Just long enough to prove that he’s fine, to please the higher ups that he won’t do it again – of which, he will – but it’s a few weeks and that’s almost agony.

Either way, leaving behind rehab. That’s what he’s doing.

He heads to the front desk, ready to check himself out. He’s been asking to leave for a while now, since they first admitted him. A rather unkind motion, since Klaus had neither asked to be there, or been allowed to leave when he’d claimed as such. Forced rehabilitation at the hands of his dear celebrity sister who’d been his emergency contact.

“I’m heading out now,” Klaus says, as he makes eye contact with the security guard. He’s the one in charge of offering people the code out of the building, the one capable of leaving Klaus semi-trapped, and so he offers his widest smile to ensure he gives the right number.

“Great,” the security guard – his badge says Jeremy but he doesn’t much seem like a Jeremy – says, “I’ll get you your stuff. Klaus, right?”

“That’s what most refer to me as, yes.”

Jeremy raises an eyebrow, and almost despite himself: “What do other people refer to you as?”

Four.

“Oh, you know, stud-muffin, snuggle-bunny. Normal names like that.”

The guard does not look especially glad to have asked. Klaus offers him a wide smile, takes the possessions he’d had taken from him when he’d first been admitted, and waits.

Jeremy doesn’t have a response. Instead, he mutters four numbers, shakes his head at Klaus’s light laughter, and returns to his computer.

Reciting the numbers for the code that’ll lead him out into the summer air, Klaus smiles to himself. Things are about to go from boring, to _fun._

* * *

There’s something to be said about sobriety, and that’s that it _fucking sucks._

Like, Klaus isn’t the kind of guy to go around saying that people shouldn’t try for it, it can increase the state of life for a lot of guys, but well, it’s not for him. He spent – like, what? – Thirteen years fully sober when he was a kid, living in the Umbrella academy with the rest of his siblings, and well, those were the _worst_ years.

He kind of wishes that people would stop forcing it onto him.

It’s kind of difficult walking around sober, mainly because it’s difficult to tell who’s there and who’s not. It’s like he’s playing a game of _guess who’s dead,_ and sometimes it’s easy, in murder victims, but when it’s people who’ve died of natural causes, he never knows until he’s walking through them.

Not the best way to distinguish, because if he walks into living people, he just comes off as an utter _asshole._

No one sells opiates or narcotics directly outside of the rehabilitation centre, although maybe someone should, it seems like a brilliant place to set up a business. Or well, probably not, but it’d be easier for him to obtain things.

Now Klaus has to make his way across town while trying to avoid ghosts and it’s all awfully inconveniencing.

“You’re really going to waste your effort again?” Ben says.

It’s the first thing he’s said to Klaus all day, which isn’t that difficult because it’s still early. Much too early for Klaus’s liking. He’s usually the type to sleep in late but no drugs, and forceful early nights have a way of leaving him unusually energised at ten o’clock in the morning.

“Is it really an effort if I wasn’t trying?”

Ben gives him _‘The Look of Disappointment’_ and shakes his head. This disappointment doesn’t really do much to Klaus, merely tickles his throat in a sort of nervous laughter. He knows that Ben doesn’t like his addiction, but Ben doesn’t _understand_ what it’s like to be him.

“Where did you disappear off to anyway?” Klaus says, stopping at the end of the road. He’s never gotten a straight answer about what happens when Ben disappears from his sight, never quite learns where his brother fucks off to. And from the way Ben rolls his eyes, he probably never will.

Oh well, some mysteries can just stay unsolved.

Instead of answering, Ben simply points to the other end of the road, to an open expanse of green, and trees and oh fuck, that is probably the most perfect place to get fucked up, this park is Klaus’s now.

“Wouldn’t crossing through there be quieter?”

Klaus offers him a wink, a thumbs up and practically races against the street. A loud honk of a passing car makes him jump, and he responds equally as loud with his middle finger and the yell of _‘learn how to drive, asshole.’_

Another honk and well, it’s a little rude but Klaus doesn’t really care. He simply turns back to the park, glances around and takes in the fresh air. There’s a surprising lack of people, especially since it’s warm out, but that’s just a stroke of good luck.

How lucky Klaus is.

Even though, it’s not really luck, he imagines. It’s school timetabling intermingled with those sorry bastards stuck working the nine-to-five routine.

“You’re the best,” Klaus says, blowing his brother a kiss.

Ben lets out a small laugh, lips twitching up. He doesn’t smile very often, but then again, he’s dead and before then they’d both been traumatised, so Klaus doesn’t blame him.

“So, what now?” Ben says. And Klaus thinks, that it’s stupid that his brother is even asking, since he _knows._ But maybe he just wants Klaus to say it aloud. Maybe he wants to have it said aloud, so he can feel justified in his worry, or anger or whatever it is dead ghosts feel towards their junkie brothers.

Klaus bites the inside of his cheek, fiddles with the sleeve of his jacket and then lets out a dry laugh. He says, “there’s no distinct plan. Just wander, see who we find.”

“It’s not wandering if you know where you’re going Klaus.”

Shrugging his shoulders, Klaus says, “Only if you’re being specific. I use the word loosely.”

“Right,” Ben says, and then he winces.

Klaus turns, expecting to walk into a lamppost or something, and realises that instead of that, he’s walked straight through a ghost. An elderly ghost, he flickers in a light of blue until Klaus has walked past.

Much to his nature, Klaus pulls a face, jumps back as far as he can and tries to push the ghost from his vision. One ghost never just means one ghost. It means _more are coming,_ and that’s not an option.

Not if he wants to live a semi-sane life.

He clicks his tongue and maybe he shouldn’t, because it catches the ghost’s attention and that’s never a good thing.

“Shit,” he says, at roughly the same time Ben echoes the same words. Actually, Klaus thinks that this is Ben’s first ghost, if you don’t, uh, count looking at himself in the mirror.

Can ghosts see their own reflections, since they’re not actually there?

A question for another day, when this ghost isn’t looking at him with wide eyes, trying to steal his attention.

“Nope,” Klaus says, shaking his head as the man opens his mouth, “I’m – not today Mr. Ghost-timer. No, nada, no thanks.”

In Klaus’s experience, older people always seem to have taken their polite metres and bashed them to pieces, because they’re always the type to say what they want as if their age earns them it.

“Kids of today can see ghosts, huh?” The ghost says, and Klaus almost hisses back that he is not a kid, he is _twenty-four thank you very much,_ but that would be an answer and he’s not going to talk to a ghost.

A smart tactic, but Klaus isn’t an idiot, no sir.

“Don’t ignore me,” the ghost shouts after him, and while he can’t hear footsteps, Klaus knows he’s being followed. “I know you can see me, why won’t you just talk to me?”

Ben glances between the living and the dead, and says, “Why aren’t we responding to him?”

“You can do whatever you want Ben,” Klaus says, “but I don’t talk to ghosts.”

“You talk to me.”

Klaus waves a hand. He says, “You don’t count, you’re my brother. You know that.”

Also, Ben doesn’t leave him alone even with the drugs so it’s kind of like he’s an anomaly compared to the others.

“Just hear him out,” Ben says.

“I hear one out, Ben, and then I’m stuck hearing like, every dead person out and that sounds like a colossal pain in the fucking neck.”

Not to mention, talking to ghosts usually means being sober and that’s just an awful idea anyway. He sighs, shakes his head and adds, “If it’s so important to you Ben, then talk to them yourself.”

Ben does.

He clicks his tongue, leaves Klaus’s side for a few seconds to talk to the ghost. Their conversation is short, not enough for Klaus to lose his brother as he makes his way through the park.

“He just wanted you to put flowers on a grave for him,” Ben says when he catches back up, in that judging tone he’s gained enough experience in giving out. “For his wife.”

“Right,” Klaus says.

He turns to look over his shoulder, stares at the ghost. Surprisingly, following Ben’s conversation, the ghost hasn’t followed after them, which is always nice. The distance is far enough that the ghost can’t draw on his energy completely, appearing more translucent, more like a mirage.

Ben continues, “It’s his unfinished business. This would’ve been their fiftieth anniversary.”

Klaus rolls his eyes. Marriage sounds so _awful,_ why do people need a piece of paper to show how much they love one another. He’s never really understood the need for it.

“A shame,” Klaus says, and kind of decides to ignore it. He doesn’t care enough, really, and even if this unsolved business isn’t as gruesome as the revenge other ghosts want, answering it just opens the door to more ghosts asking for his help.

Or… well, asking for Ben’s, because Klaus refuses to talk to them.

* * *

Ben brings it up again.

Because why the fuck wouldn’t he?

The only difference, between earlier and now, is that Klaus is high. Wonderfully high, on a pedestal of narcotics that leave him with a world that is both quiet and bursting with colour.

Trust Ben to know what point of the high to bring things up at. Klaus has some psychedelics running in his system, and it’s like his entire body is walking through a kaleidoscope of hysteria.

“We should get some flowers for that ghost,” Ben says.

He’s always been the most naïve of the siblings, Klaus thinks, or maybe he was just the kindest. It’s hard to tell the difference sometimes. Either way, he opens his mouth, breathes out bubbles of air, and offers a bright laugh.

“Sure,” Klaus says, although he’s not sure whether he says it to Ben or the deer that’s stood beside him, its antlers weaving up past them both, up towards the roof of the bar they’re sat in, like some god-awful bone version of _Jack and the Beanstalk._

“Why the fuck not?” Klaus says instead and leans forward to pet the deer. Then, because Ben is staring, he rolls his eyes, finishes his drink and stumbles out from the bar.

“Great,” Ben says. “We should be able to find a 24/7 grocery store that has some flowers.”

Klaus fixes him with a frown, leans into his pockets and fishes out some chocolate. He breaks a piece off with his teeth, before shoving it back into his pocket. Savours the taste of cocoa on his tongue and keeps walking forward.

“I’m not _buying_ the flowers Ben,” he says. Because really, why would he? He’s not emotionally invested in this ghost. And anyway, it’s stupid to go around buying flowers because they sprout from the ground and it’s… he can pick them any time.

“Klaus…”

“No,” Klaus shakes his head, adamant. “I spend my money on things that matter, not shit like _flowers._ ”

“Drugs. You spend your money on drugs.”

“Exactly,” Klaus chirps, heading in the direction of the grocery store anyway. “As I said, only on things that matter.”

* * *

There are too many flower bouquets in the store, and the variation is difficult because he has no idea what ones the ghost would have picked, so Klaus just goes for the one that doesn’t have ants crawling around the plastic.

Then, he makes his way through the shop to the areas he actually wants stuff from. He pushes a bag of chips into his pockets, and then, craving something a little more sugary, he pushes a pack of red vines into his other pocket.

“Alright Ben,” Klaus says, making eye contact for a few seconds, “don’t get me caught.”

Ben waves a hand up and down his body and says, “I’m dead.”

“Semantics.” Klaus says, and then races towards automatic doors, sprinting out into the night.

He hears yells behind him of the security guard that had been stationed by the exit, but Klaus has a head start, and with enough drugs in his system, his body has enough energy.

Klaus’s laugh blends with the wind, breathless.

He doesn’t stop running until he’s certain he’s left the security guard behind, until he’s leaning against the wall of an alleyway, his heart slamming against his chest, heaving for oxygen.

“Got to up my cardio,” Klaus laughs, and Ben offers a hint of a smile.

Sometimes, Klaus thinks that Ben hates being stuck with him. That he doesn’t enjoy being stuck in the afterlife with only his addict brother by his side. But then he remembers their other siblings and realises that Ben’s probably glad he gets someone who’ll give him a bit of fun.

Who’ll make him smile at the most inappropriate times.

“Right.” Ben says.

“How are you fine with running so – oh right. Dead.”

 _“Rude.”_ Ben says, but he’s laughing now. Shaking his head. “You look ridiculous.”

“Why thank you.” Klaus winks. “I try.”

* * *

 

Ben gives him the name of the cemetery and they spend what feels like a lifetime trying to traverse the city and find it. Klaus doesn’t have a smart phone – they’re too easy to pawn, when he needs money – so it’s not like he can pull up google maps and navigate that way.

It’s too late to head into the library, so he can’t head inside and use the computers or grab a map either.

He knows a lot of the city inside and out, but he’s never paid much attention to the cemeteries, especially not the names of them. He has a vague idea of where they’re situated, but mostly because he normally spends most of his time staying _away from them._

“I don’t know Ben,” Klaus says, after they past the second graveyard, finding that it’s not the one his brother has told him they’re heading to, “this is impossible.”

“Come on,” Ben says, “you can do this.”

Okay, so maybe Klaus _can,_ but it doesn’t mean that he should. Or that he _wants_ to. He’s tired, he wants to go to sleep and deal with this in the morning… er, well, in the afternoon whenever he wakes up.

“Ugh, this is horrible.” Klaus says.

He keeps walking though, because what else is there to do? It’s too late that bars are closed and night clubs will be closing shortly. A sigh, soft, breathless rises up his throat.

Fucking ghosts.

* * *

He finds the cemetery, eventually.

“Fucking _finally,_ ” Klaus mutters, feeling sleep creeping into his body, his blood screaming for another fix. He takes a pill, then another, because cemeteries are horrible and chock-filled with ghosts and the dead.

Ben flickers, translucent as he looks at the pills and says, “really?”

Klaus shrugs. A third in his palm. Sometimes when there’s too much, it’s difficult to keep seeing Ben. He’ll flicker, like he’s not really there at all, but if Klaus focuses his brother will reappear.

He swallows the third.

Ben doesn’t disappear immediately, because the drugs always take time to kick in, but he rolls his eyes as if expecting to any moment. Klaus keeps his eyes watching his brother, mutters, “what was the name again?”

“Cynthia.”

Klaus feels his lips press together and says, “you think we should split the bouquet up to give a single flower to every Cynthia in here?”

“Cynthia Reynolds.”

“Much better.” Klaus claps his hands together, the bouquet tucked in the crook of his armpit, and says, “let’s find this grave.”

* * *

He wakes up to the feeling of a hand pushing against his arm.

Once, then a second time, until Klaus lets out a groan and bats his hand out to get whoever it is to just _leave him be._ The sun is bright, and much like a cat, Klaus wants to just curl up beneath the rays and sleep until his exhaustion is gone.

Then Ben says, “She’s a police detective. It seems.”

And then, by that point, Klaus is very much so awake.

He opens his eyes quickly enough that his eyes burn at the sudden sunlight, turning to glance up at the detective. She wears her badge around her neck on a silver chain, mostly hidden behind a brown leather jacket.

She frowns, even as Klaus offers a smile up towards her.

“Why hello, Detective.” He tries, conjuring his sweetest, most innocent expression. Beside him, Ben laughs. Klaus glares at him, offers a faint hiss.

“Are you…” She takes a moment to watch his body language, even as Klaus slowly pushes himself up, brushing dirt from his jeans and from his coat. “…Alright?”

“Oh yes,” Klaus says, nodding his head for emphasis. He thrusts his hands into his pocket, fidgets. “I’m just oh so dandy.”

She doesn’t look like she believes him, and before she has the chance, Klaus lifts a hand, ready to escape. Because if she starts asking questions, then she’s going to have enough time to notice the bracelet from rehab, and _then_ she’ll find it fit to search him.

Searching means an arrest and confiscation from what’s on his person and… and this _shit doesn’t come cheap._

“You look pale, are you sure you don’t need–” The detective leans forward, hand resting on his hand. Klaus turns around to look at her again, and maybe she’s about to say something, but the sound of her phone cuts her off before she can begin.

“One second,” she says, and Klaus feels almost glad when she turns, answering the mobile. “Detective Patch.”

Klaus takes the moment she’s turned to hide. He glances towards the graves, spots a rather large tombstone, and dives behind it. It’s a large one, a family plot with several names on. Big enough for him to curl up behind it and home the lady detective doesn’t come searching for him.

Ben crouches next to him. Every so often, he’ll turn, see if the detective is off the phone yet, whether she’s left or not.

It takes time, but eventually, Ben turns back. “She did a little search for you, but I think she’s gone now.”

Klaus decides to trust his word.

He stands, glances both ways, and steals away to somewhere far more fucking interesting than a cemetery.

“Not as bad as the mausoleum, right?” Ben whispers, eventually. And Klaus sends him a glare, something that shouts that it’s still a place he will never return to, especially if he’s not high.

* * *

With no more ghostly expeditions to undertake, Klaus decides to return to his usual routines. Ben wants to see a movie, and Allison has a new one out so they go and watch that, while Klaus sips at the slushie he’s poured vodka into at the back of the theatre.

It’s not a very interesting movie, and Klaus is pretty sure he almost nods off a few times, but then he’s awake because the lights are brightening up. Ben says something about how it was a decent movie, and Klaus nods along like he has a fucking idea what he’s talking about.

Then he reaches into his pocket and swallows down another pill.

It gives him energy, enough that any aches from falling asleep on the ground seem to ease from his bones. Klaus feels the return of relaxation, feels his body fall into it’s usual routine and doesn’t fight the smile that twitches at his lips.

For once, Ben doesn’t say anything about it.

“Which club do you like the most Ben? The one with the disco lights, or the one with the poles at the edges for everyone to dance on?”

Ben’s eyebrow twitches in a way that says he doesn’t really like either club, but then he pauses, considers the two evils and goes with the disco place.

Which is how they end up stood outside a club with strobe lights flashing down on them, neon lights declaring _The_ _Disco Den,_ as open.

A horrible name, really. Klaus _loves it._

He waits in line, waves at the security bouncer and frowns as soon as he’s denied entry.

This is certainly not part of the plan.

“You’re banned from here,” the bouncer says. He’s a tall guy, fits the profile of _security,_ because he’s buff, has tattoos lining his arms, his head shaved. He probably has a fitting name too, like… Dan, or something.

Since he’s pretty sure he’s not banned from _The Disco Den,_ Klaus shakes his head and says, “no I’m not.”

Beside him, Ben sighs, almost regretful as he shakes his head. “You are, don’t you remember what happened last time?”

Klaus’s gaze focuses on his brothers outline, as he gestures vaguely, pretending to take a shot, and then…

And then Klaus remembers, “oh yeah, I’m banned.”

“You’re banned.” The bouncer agrees.

Which is a shame, because Klaus has always really enjoyed _The Disco Den,_ it’s very retro. Fun, enjoyable experiences always happen when people are surrounded with disco. He’s sad to no longer be invited to the disco.

“Can we… unban me?” Klaus asks.

As if remembering Klaus’s previous endeavour, the bouncer shakes his head. Stern.

* * *

“Wait,” Diego says, leaning forward. He leans forward, clasps his hands together. Klaus wonders whether he’s praying for a better brother, someone who doesn’t get kicked out of disco clubs. “Why did you get banned from that club?”

Klaus shrugs his shoulders, “Oh you know.”

“No, no,” Diego says, and he wags a finger. He’s significantly less intimidating without the knives, but still… “I want to know why you weren’t allowed in.”

Rolling his eyes at his brother, Klaus shakes his head.

“Diego, listen,” he says, “it’s not part of the story.”

_“Klaus.”_

“Ugh, fine, fine, I got kicked out because–”

* * *

_“It sounds like such a stupid idea Klaus,” Ben says by his side, as they wait at the bar. There’s a cocktail menu in front of them, with fancy shots and the likes, and Klaus tries to focus on the writing and finds that it’s impossible._

_“It’s not stupid Ben,” Klaus says, “it’ll be fine.”_

_His brother has little faith in him it seems, because all he receives is a raised eyebrow and a long exhale. He doesn’t even get a response._

_“Listen, Ben,” Klaus says after a second, the bartender preparing his drink. “It’s called_ flaming liquid cocaine, _you think I can just turn a shot like that down?”_

_Ben doesn’t deflate, but his lips do twitch, the beginning of a frown. Before he has the time to turn things into a lecture however, the bartender turns, placing a shot glass down in front of them._

_Klaus has seen shots before but none are as beautiful as this one. Yellow liquid blends into crimson, back into yellow. That’s not the best part though – Klaus thought it might be the colour that gained the name but no._

_This shot is on_ fire.

_It’s probably not the best idea, but Klaus lifts the shot and drains it before the flame can go out._

_“Klaus-” Ben tries, but Klaus doesn’t hear, because all he can focus on all of a sudden is the fact that his mouth is extremely hot._

_Burning hot._

_The bartender doesn’t even have time to laugh. He wants to, Klaus can see in the way his lips twitch, but he doesn’t get the chance, not before Klaus is spitting the drink back out, sending burning liquor across the bar, onto the very man who’d served him._

_The bartender swears._

_Pats at his sleeve and – huh, maybe he’s not the best bartender because his sleeve is catching pretty quickly, he must have spilled a lot of spirits on him over the span of the night._

_Ben swears, and Klaus laughs, and before either of them get the chance to speak, there’s someone grabbing at his shoulder telling him to get out and not to come back._

* * *

“You know, other than the whole, being on fire thing,” Klaus says, “It was a very nice shot.”

Diego arches an eyebrow.

Klaus supposes that there’s not much really that can be said in response to that.

“Not sure if I agree with the name though,” he continues, “it wasn’t very cocaine like. Unless you’re considering how quickly it was over with… hmm...”

Diego clears his throat. He says, “right.”

“Can I go back to the story of why we’re here now?” Klaus says, and he shuffles on the bench. His brother lifts a hand to his temple, massaging the headache he’s no doubt developing, “because as I said, the ban is irrelevant.”

Diego hums, and Klaus, because he’s amazing, falls back into his story telling.

* * *

For a while, Klaus tries to find a different way into the building, to the club he’s come all the way towards, lining up to go into. He doesn’t find any open windows, any way inside. The balcony where people go out to smoke is too far up to climb, and finally Klaus throws his arms up, letting out a strangled sigh at not being allowed inside.

As a person, he’s not particularly pleased to be told he can’t do something.

Maybe because father dearest always told him what to do, giving him no choices. Now, whenever he’s told anything, Klaus rebels and… fuck, it’s a pain when he doesn’t have the option to rebel.

He pulls a cigarette from his pocket – there’s a slight tear to it, where it’s been bent in the pocket – leaving it in his mouth as he rummages through his other pocket for a lighter.

The flame dies a few times before it finally lights the cigarette. He’ll need to steal some poor guys lighter at some point, since this one seems to be on it’s last legs, running out of lighter fluid.

To steal someone’s lighter though, he needs to find somewhere with people.

And so, Klaus goes in search. There’s only the one nightclub in this immediate vicinity, but for what it lacks in clubbing, it makes up for in bars. There’s a wide variety, and for a moment he doesn’t know which one he wants to go into.

Does he want the bar that’s plant themed, with vines wrapped around pillared walls? Does he want to join the goths and head to the bar that has hidden bathrooms behind the bookshelves, like they’re stepping into a fucking, old mansion or something?

Klaus isn’t sure which to choose, because there’s just so much choice.

This is why he usually looks to Ben to help him choose. Granted, Ben isn’t really one to enjoy the whole nightlife thing, but Klaus thinks that’s just because no one likes being the sober person at a party.

“Where should we head to, do you think?” Klaus asks, and Ben shrugs because he doesn’t really know either.

“The first one we come across, maybe?” Ben says, and that’s how they choose.

Klaus thinks it’s a boring resolution, but Ben said they should do it, and he _had_ asked for his help so maybe he can listen for now. If he listens to a bit of what his brother says, maybe then he won’t think Klaus spends all his time ignoring him.

“Alright, let’s go.” He says, inhaling smoke and nicotine and all the other poisons Ben always scolds him are inside cigarettes.

Klaus likes the taste of poison.

Poison tastes like ashes in his throat, feels like track marks in his arms, fire in his veins. Poison feels _good_ and there’s nothing that can convince him otherwise, _thank you very much Ben._

They head towards the first bar, and sadly, it’s not the one with bathrooms hidden behind bookshelves, or the one with vines creeping from every crack in the wall.

It’s a pretty normal bar in comparison, actually.

Klaus steps inside, searches for the place’s _thing –_ every bar needs a _thing_ why else should he come back – and finds nothing. They don’t seem to have any signs about strange cocktails, no advertisement for happy hour.

There are no neon lights, nothing of any discernible interest, and Klaus readies to turn around, to leave the place behind when he spots him. The person who’ll make this place interesting enough to stay.

Good ole number Two.

Or, as he’s known by anyone other than their absolutely horrendous father, _Diego._

He’s sat with his back to the door, at the bar, but somehow Klaus knows it’s him. There’s only so long one can stand staring at his siblings backs as they leave him as their fucking _lookout, again,_ before the outline of them turned from him are burnt against his eyelids.

He looks across at Ben and says, “don’t you dare ruin this for me.”

Ben raises his hands in a way that clearly reads, _‘Oh trust me, you don’t need me for that.’_

Despite himself, Klaus hisses.

Then, he heads to the bar to get himself a drink. He shuffles into the seat beside Diego, watches from the corner of his eye as his brother turns, ever so subtly to assess the new potential threat beside him.

He can hardly avoid the laugh that rises from his throat as Diego spots him, _recognises him,_ and so he doesn’t. He lets the sound bubble from his throat, spilling over as he offers a quick salute and a humble, “how’s the knife collection, Diego?”

Diego spends a moment staring at him, which is fine because even Klaus likes staring at himself for a while sometimes, he is a _fabulous human being,_ and Klaus signals for the bartender to come over, ordering vodka, demanding it dry, _no mixer to pollute it thanks._

“Klaus?” Diego says after a second, as Klaus passes over the bills to pay for the drink. It’s horrible, he thinks, that he needs to pay this much. He should have bought a bottle, it’s always cheaper in the end.

“It is I,” Klaus says, lips twitching up. “You didn’t answer my question about the knives Diego.”

Diego squints across at him. From the gleam in his eyes, the way his reaction time seems a little slower than Klaus remembers, it’s quite easy to decide that his brother is drunk.

Whatever, it’s about time someone else discovers the same enjoyment of alcohol.

Although, really, Klaus hadn’t expected it to be _Diego._

He’d kind of been expecting it to be Allison to be truthful. She’d always been pretty laid back in comparison to the rest of them, and she’s a celebrity, so she’s sure to have invitations to all of the best parties.

Diego though?

Huh.

“What’re you doing here?” Diego asks after a moment. He’s not slurring, so he’s obviously not _that drunk,_ but Klaus points at his brother and turns to the bartender, asking for a glass of water regardless.

“The knives Diego,” Klaus pushes, “how’re the knives?”

Diego frowns. He says, “The knives are… fine? Wha- what’s _wrong with you?”_

Klaus glances at his drink – it’s only a shot, which is so uncontrollably _lame_ – and throws it back, lets it burn the back of his throat. He says, “that’s a loaded question, brother dear.”

A sigh. And Diego finishes off his drink. He doesn’t throw it back, so it’s hardly _impressive,_ but he does drain it in one go, which is, quite frankly, a _mood._

“I don’t have the energy to deal with you right now Klaus,” Diego says, standing. Like he’s going to leave almost immediately simply because Klaus has appeared.

Frankly, Klaus would be offended if he cared enough about what his siblings thought about him.

But he doesn’t, so he isn’t. Instead, he raises a hand to his chest, offers his most shocked expression and says, “Diego, you _wound me.”_

Diego levies him with a long, hard stare and okay, Klaus can kind of see his point, but still: _rude._

“What do you _want_ Klaus?” Diego asks finally, voice strained, almost tired.

Ah, now Klaus understands. Diego thinks that he’s found out his brother because he wants something, not because of some random coincidence bringing them back together. It’s a valid belief, Klaus decides, since the last time he went looking for his brother, he’d been in dire need of cash.

Well, that’s not the issue this time.

(Not… quite... It’s not that Klaus doesn’t need money, it’s just that, well, he doesn’t go seeking his siblings for it. He knows their answers will be _no._ )

“Out of life, Diego?” Klaus says, tilting his head, “or from you?”

His brother, ever predictable, grits his teeth. He says, “From me.”

“Nothing.” Klaus says. He only receives distrust. “Honest.”

The most he really wants, he supposes, is a conversation. But maybe with the childhood they share, even that is too much to ask. Their father had fucked them up long ago, and really, now it’s a question of whether two fucked up brothers are able to talk, or whether they’ll blow up at each other.

Diego rolls his eyes, still suspicious, but he sits back down.

* * *

They talk, so that answers that question, and it’s calming, even if Klaus hardly remembers a thing about what they say.

Something about a cute detective lady, which – quite frankly Klaus has met one already this week, he doesn’t even want to _hear_ about another for a while. Something about how drugs are bad, cigarettes are poison and all the _blah blah blah_ nonsense.

They talk and Klaus kind of remembers why Diego was his favourite as a kid.

He’d always loved his other siblings, sure, but Diego had always been the kindest, the most accommodating to the boy who saw things no one else could. They didn’t do the _comforting_ thing, but that was because father had ingrained them not to feel scared, or upset, Klaus most of all.

But Diego had seen the emotions simmering below, and maybe he hadn’t comforted him in the conventional way, but for the longest time, he’d found ways to help Klaus stop thinking about the worst of it.

Dares, little tasks. Sometimes they’d sneak out of the house, sometimes it would just be forcing Klaus into helping with chores.

It’d been helpful, not in drowning out the voices, or the memories, but in helping push them back a little bit, until later when he’d be staring up at his bedroom ceiling.

Then the drugs kicked in, Diego had been disappointed in him, and Klaus had realised he didn’t need a distraction anymore because the drugs sent everything away for him.

“So, where’re you staying now then?” Diego asks, and the words are slurred, because he’s pretty drunk. Klaus doesn’t really like seeing Diego drunk, it’s _strange,_ and it doesn’t really suit him, not that he can really say drinking suits people.

But if it did, it wouldn’t suit Diego.

“Anywhere and everywhere,” Klaus says, which is code for: _nowhere._

Which, with all those police contacts Diego talks about having, he should know already. If he decided to keep up with how Klaus is doing, anyway. All Klaus has is the money he hides across his body, and the clothes on his back.

“Oh,” Diego says, because he’s somewhat smart and Klaus isn’t giving him a hard code to crack. “Shit.”

Klaus doesn’t really want to go into it.

He wishes he were still in the poorly lit apartment he’d been renting when he’d first run from the academy, but he’d barely been there for any time at all, not before he’d lost the crappy job he’d been working, not before he’d spent all his rent money, unable to pay the bills.

It’d not been very warm there, because he never paid money into the gas meter, but there’d been a bed and blankets and it had been possible to trick himself into an illusion of it being warm.

“Life’s an adventure Diego,” Klaus chirps. “You think I want to stay in any one place for too long?”

Diego fixes him with a look. Klaus shrugs and they stay silent for a second as he watches the thoughts flicker across his brother’s gaze, past his lips, past the frown that creases at his forehead.

And then eventually:

“You can stay with me for a while,” Diego says, “until you get back up on your feet.”

Klaus shakes his head. He says, “I said I didn’t want anything from you Diego–”

“You’re staying. Someone needs to make sure you don’t end up dead in the street, asshole.”

Faced with a tone like that, Klaus knows it’s going to be impossible to disagree with him. Diego will just push, and push, and then, because his brother never knows when to stop, there’ll be a threat and a knife and quite frankly, no one should want to be around when Diego takes out his knives.

So, he does the smartest thing possible.

Klaus shrugs his shoulders and gives in. He’ll be able to sneak off when his brother’s sleeping, or something along those lines. Getting back up on his feet is impossible, especially because he prefers living life closer to the ground.

* * *

Eventually, they decide to leave and that’s when the night takes a turn.

Klaus doesn’t mind it, really, he loves turns. He’s never been one for the straight and narrow. He fucking loves when everything becomes crazy, when they take a turn only to come face to face with something well and truly _fucked up_ or stupid.

Yes, Klaus loves a lot of turns.

They have to walk, because neither of them can drive, but that’s fine. It gives Klaus time to consider where Diego is leading them. They head past an entertainment complex – children’s birthday parties, shit like that – past a block of warehouses, forklifts moving cases from the lorries into the buildings.

All normal things, Klaus thinks, and then, he’s blinking, blinding lights searing against his vision. He squints, glancing ahead. There are at least five of them all stood together, and Klaus immediately feels himself tense up.

Diego, of course, justice extraordinaire that he is, decides that their new objective is to walk straight up to the crime scene and ask after the details. Which is stupid, because a.) _they’re drunk_ and b.) Klaus doesn’t really want to be arrested for possession again.

“Diego, buddy,” Klaus tries, “let’s just go, we don’t need to solve crime today.”

Something in Diego’s expression refuses to shift, and Klaus realises that maybe his brother needs a win, a win in the form of a crime scene, since he’s such a vigilante, or something.

But growing up a Hargreaves has taught Klaus that he needs to look out for himself first. Diego can have his win another day, when he’s not drunk, when they’re not both at the same place.

“Klaus,” Diego says, and it’s like an order, except, Klaus has never responded well to orders.

“No way buddy,” Klaus says. And that’s when he sees the lady detective from earlier. He feels a shiver rise up his spine, realises that if he can see her, she can see him – and she’d been close to asking questions earlier, he knows. “We should just go home, tomorrow you can be the badass you were always destined to be.”

Diego scowls. But he lets Klaus turn them around.

And then, Klaus is practically pulling him away from the crime scene, with enough urgency that he’s sure he comes off as completely suspicious. They turn, and they are halfway down the road by the time they hear a shouting for them to stop.

Klaus turns, raises an eyebrow, and realises that he very much so does not want to stop.

He’s forced to though. Diego puts a hand on his shoulder, drags him to a halt. And then, they turn.

It’s the lady detective, because of _fucking course_ it is.

* * *

Klaus leans forward in the jail cell, glances Diego up and down. Finally, he asks, “how much do you remember of last night?”

Diego crosses his arms as if to argue that he’s not the type to go forgetting things, especially not when it comes to police business. But then, his stern expression wilts, the slightest and he says, “I remember enough.”

“You didn’t blackout, did you?”

“Of course not,” Diego says, “I remember everything, I just – it blurs.”

Klaus has to force himself not to smile. Instead, with as serious an expression on his face as possible – which is, admittedly not very seriously at all – he says, “what isn’t blurred?”

Diego crosses his arms. He says, “The arrest, sitting in the car. I remember apologising for _you_ being such an idiot and asking for Eudora to open her door so there was a little ventilation.”

At this, Klaus reaches up to rub his forehead. His lips twitch.

“She must have been pretty pissed though,” Diego continues, “because the instant she opened the door, she just slammed it shut again?”

“Right,” Klaus says, and decides that if everything is still blurry for his brother, then he’ll help focus the lens.

* * *

Diego seems to act first, his eyebrows raising in surprise. He doesn’t stutter but his words are slightly strangled as he says, “Eudora.”

Klaus, ever so slightly, decides to hide behind his brother.

“Diego,” she says, and then her gaze settles onto Klaus, and he’s not hidden enough so he offers an awkward wave and tries to will himself out of existence. “And you–”

“And me?” Klaus starts, only for Diego to shush him, telling him to just _shut the fuck up for once._

Well, Klaus doesn’t really want to shut up, but Ben echoes the sentiment and he offers his brother’s ghost his attention instead. He doesn’t really hear what Diego says, but he’s sure that it’s a mixture of irritation and maybe a little residual sexual tension but who cares.

It’s not really important to him, so he simply shrinks and pretends that Eudora isn’t looking at him, wondering why she’d seen him sleeping in a graveyard.

He’d been tired. Is that not a suitable answer in itself?

“Maybe we should run,” he mutters to Ben, and his brother gives him a look that this is probably the worst idea ever.

“Stick it out,” Ben says instead. “We can get out of this without making a scene.”

Can they? Klaus has caused too many scenes to think that it’s possible to disappear without causing one.

Maybe he’s got a bit of a thing for being the centre of attention.

Huh, life lessons with Klaus.

Still, Diego’s offering him a couch for the night, and that’s better than the nearest dumpster, so Klaus decides that he can stay quiet, just this once. Even if quiet feels like an itch against his skin, unbearable.

“I’m sorry, Diego,” Eudora says when he focuses back onto the conversation, and Klaus winces at the tone in her voice, as if flitters between stern and light. A friend but a detective first. “I told you if you came near another one of my crime scenes, I’d have to arrest you.”

Klaus raises a hand, as if trying to catch a teacher’s attention. He says, “We were just leaving.”

Eudora sighs. She shrugs her shoulders, waves a hand to say, _fine – just go,_ and they’re about to turn again when her gaze flickers down to Diego’s belt. Her expression shutters.

“How many times have I told you about the knives, Diego?” She sighs.

Klaus winces again.

He supposes from such a question, she’s probably told him he’s not allowed to wear them around his person, as many times as Klaus’s own siblings have told him to get clean.

So… too many fucking times to count.

“They’re illegal to have on your person,” Eudora sighs, and she moves forward, glances Diego up and down. “I can’t overlook it. Especially when you guys have already been acting suspicious.”

Her gaze flitters across to Klaus at that, and Klaus rolls his eyes because he is in no way, _suspicious._

Well… He means… _He’s not the one with knives._

“Knives off your person, Diego.” Eudora continues, and very slowly, they watch as Diego unclasps what Klaus has come to call, the _belt of cold steel._

It’s just a belt with six throwing knives attached but, eh. It’s much better when things are named, Klaus thinks. It adds class.

Diego places the knives on the floor in front of him, watches Eudora carefully and then says, “I want these back.”

Klaus can’t read the answering expression, the way Eudora purses her lips, but he kind of imagines that Diego’s going to be without his knives for a while. Or, well, for at least for long enough that it’ll drive his brother insane.

“And the rest,” she says, crossing her arms.

Diego heaves his shoulders, stares at the detective and then, rolls his eyes. He leans into his jacket pocket, places two more into the pile.

_“Diego.”_

He drops another from the inside of his sleeve.

Klaus is quite possibly, in awe, from just how many knives his brother has on his person – neigh, in general. Because well, Klaus doesn’t even have one and there’s nine here, right in front of him.

Because he’s finding satisfaction in this entire ordeal, Klaus leans forward pokes his brother in the shoulder. As he gains Diego’s attention, pushing him from whatever sexual tension he seems to share with Eudora, he clicks his tongue and makes a small gesture to his shoes.

“And the last one.”

He probably shouldn’t giggle at the glare his brother sends him, but watching Diego reach into his boot and pull out a tenth knife is nothing past _hysterical._

It’s at this, that another detective seems to join their group. He glances down at the floor, at the knives and simply shakes his head.

“I take it we’re arresting him?” The guy says, and Klaus forces his hands into his pockets, stepping back as they turn to Diego. Eudora nods, even if she looks like she regrets having to push back.

She grabs her cuffs from her pocket, stares Diego up and down and says, “couldn’t you have just left the knives at home?”

Diego rolls his hands, and then, she’s pulling his arms behind his back, tightening metal against his wrists. Klaus wonders whether he should tell her that Diego knows how to break out of cuffs, has ever since a mission went wrong.

It’d included dislocating his thumb, but Diego knew how to do it.

“Sorry about this,” she says, glancing across to him now, “but Diego knows the rules. You understand, right?”

Klaus waves a hand, offers a smile and says, “Oh no, I get it. Diego’s always been a troublemaker, haven’t you Diego?”

He stifles another laugh as Diego swears.

“Klaus, for once in your life, _shut the fuck up._ ”

Klaus glances between his brother and the two cops and decides that this isn’t his brother ordering him to do something, but simply, making a very strongly worded suggestion.

(He might not listen to orders, but Klaus can always take suggestions into account, and so he does. Falling quiet, watching as Eudora grabs hold of the links tying Diego’s cuffs together.)

She turns back to look at Klaus, and she’s nearer than before, near enough that he can spot the very quick twitch of her eyebrows, as small as it is.

“Are you… high?” She asks, which is probably not something you ever want a detective to ask you. Especially when they’re already arresting your brother.

“No!” Klaus says, and then, because Diego turns back and shakes his head at him, warning him against lying, he sighs, glances down and sighs out a long, “yeah.”

Eudora stares, for almost too long, before finally glancing towards the cop – Chuck, she’d called him – who’s stood just a few metres away. She sighs, and says, “Can you search him?”

Chuck nods his head, and then, stepping forward, he readies some bullshit explanation that they’ve got adequate reasoning to conduct a search.

“ _Klaus,”_ Diego says, as if he knows what’s going to happen, but Klaus barely listens.

Within a few seconds, he’s breaking off into a run, back down the street, the sound of footsteps following after him.

* * *

“I don’t get it,” Diego says, “neither of us did anything wrong. Why run, when all they wanted to do was a search?”

Klaus gives his brother what he hopes is _the look_ and shakes his head. He says, “They would’ve taken my drugs Diego.”

His brother leans forward. He says, “they _didn’t?”_

“Well no,” Klaus says, “if you let me get to that part of the story without interrupting me every few seconds, you’d know what was happening.”

Since he’s right, Diego simply grits his teeth and sits back. A sigh rises up his throat, but somehow, he swallows it back down.

* * *

Klaus runs.

He breaks into a run first, speeds into a sprint when he realises that he’s actually being chased further than the edge of the road, and then, when he’s got enough space between him and the detective – chuck, his mind reminds him again, but wow, what an odd name for a detective to have, Klaus hasn’t ever met a _chuck_ before – he pushes his hand into his pockets.

He pushes past his cigarettes, and down to a small bag of blue pills. There are three left inside, and maybe he’s a fool to pop them all into his mouth with everything else he’s taken today, but Klaus has never claimed to be a genius.

He swallows them down and then scrunches the empty bag back into his pocket.

Is there anything else in his pockets…?

A single pill at the bottom, he’s pretty sure it’s ecstasy. Probably not a good idea to mix it with the other drugs in his system, but it’s also not a good idea to be caught with drugs on his person.

Another pill down the hatch. It catches at the back of his throat without anything to swallow it down with, and Klaus coughs it back up, the pill dissolving against his tongue. All he can taste is something bitter, and it’s not unlike the taste of bile in his mouth after throwing up.

He swallows again, and this time it manages to go down.

Either Klaus is going to overdose, or this is going to be the best fucking high of his life.

He’s going to need the high really.

“Why’re we running?” Ben asks beside him. Klaus doesn’t have the breath to answer him, so instead, he turns the corner and looks for the best escape plan he can find. “Klaus?”

“Away,” Klaus breathes at last, because other than that, he has no fucking clue.

Then, he spots the warehouses and comes up with a plan.

“You’re going to suggest something I’m going to hate,” Ben says, “aren’t you?”

Klaus offers him a thumbs up, and races into the warehouse’s courtyard. He must have a bit of a lead on the police detective Chuck, because he manages to make it to one of the empty forklifts – keys left inside, _why would someone leave the keys inside? –_ powering it up.

“Oh god,” Ben says, holding on to the side and leaning next to him. “This isn’t going to work.”

It’s going to work.

They set off down out of the courtyard, hardly hearing any protests as he moves. Maybe the workers are off on a late-night rendezvous, or taking their night shift break, because no one seems to notice him stealing their forklift.

He turns off the courtyard, notices Chuck racing towards him, looking only mildly out of breath and then offers the man a small wave.

Then, he descends down the road.

“Klaus,” Ben mutters after a second, and he’s staring down the street, at the officer chasing them, “he’s gaining on us.”

Klaus bites the inside of his cheek.

His heart is slamming against his chest, but he’s pretty sure it’s not caused by adrenaline. It’s probably the drugs.

“No,” Klaus whines, “this is supposed to be like, a more fun version of the great escape, he’s not _allowed_ to catch up.”

Ben tells him to press the accelerator pedal harder, so Klaus pushes it down as far as it can go.

“Faster, Klaus!” Ben says. “Go faster!”

“I can’t go any faster than this,” Klaus mutters. It’s at this point, that he realises that forklifts aren’t exactly known for their speed, that they’re probably unable to go much faster than the average walking speed.

You know what, Klaus is pretty sure he could run faster at this point.

But then Ben laughs, and Klaus is laughing too, so he keeps going with the forklift, taking a turn down into a residential street. It’s late enough that he doesn’t need to weave through traffic, but he weaves anyway, for the fun of it, even if it’s slowing them down even more.

“You’re such an idiot, Klaus,” Ben laughs, and Klaus laughs that he knows and then, before he can say anything else, he’s being pulled from the forklift, tackled down onto the floor.

He scuffs his knees on the way down, bangs his chin on the floor, but the pain promises nothing more than a bruise.

“Fuck,” Klaus mumbles into concrete, “you didn’t have to tackle me.”

“You’re a fleeing suspect,” Chuck says.

“So many other ways you could have caught me, though.”

Chuck clicks handcuffs around his wrists, pulls him up, and stares at the forklift. Then, he says, “you just stole a forklift.”

“Not sure whether those two points are conjunctive but sure.”

* * *

 

The walk back to the police car would be more awkward, if Klaus hadn’t filled it with noise.

He makes conversation easily, even if he gets no response. Chuck doesn’t really respond with anything other than the odd _‘huh’_ at the stranger points that Klaus thinks up.

And finally, they’re back at the scene. Klaus doesn’t really know what he’s supposed to do now, so he stumbles forward as Chuck leads him towards the police car, rolling his eyes and generally… babbling.

“So like, Chuck, I have an important question,” he asks finally.

“It’s detective Beaman, to you.” Chuck says, because he’s a cop, and therefore, has sworn to a life of celibacy. Except not celibate from sex, but rather, from being any _fun._

“Right, sure Chuck,” Klaus says, “but I have a question. You know like, unicorns, right? If they were real, their horns – would they be bone like a rhinos, or would they be ivory like an elephants tusks?”

Chuck doesn’t look like he generally knows how to respond, and that’s enough for Klaus to smile, his lips tugging upwards.

Ben, amazing brother that he is, comes up with his conclusion. He says, “I reckon it’d be bone.”

“Yeah?” Klaus says, “why’s that?”

If Chuck is concerned that he’s talking to himself, he doesn’t let it show. Although, to be fair, Klaus doubts that he’s the first junkie the man’s come across who talks to himself.

“Rhinos and horses are closely related to one another, biologically, right?”

Ah, yes, this is true.

Respect to Ben, he’s always been super smart.

“We’ve decided on bone, Chuck.” He says, because it’s always nice to share information with others, even if it’s irrelevant.

“Of all the people Diego chooses to hang out around…” Chuck mutters, and _ouch._ Did the man just say that?

“He doesn’t choose too,” Klaus says, instead, forcing his voice into a cheery tone. Because quite frankly, _fuck you Chuck._ “he’s kind of stuck with me. Family and all.”

Chuck doesn’t say anything after that, and Klaus doesn’t know if it’s because he’s embarrassed about insulting Diego’s family, or whether it’s just because he’s done with the conversation, but he falls quiet either way.

That is, until he’s about to hand him over to another cop.

Chuck had been here for a different case, after all, so he probably has to go back to his crime scene. Which means that the handover is Klaus’s shot.

He really doesn’t like police stations – there are always so many ghosts in stations, demanding justice, following loved ones and criminals alike – so anything that’ll keep him from being trapped.

“I’ll hand him over to you then Jones,” Chuck says, and Klaus waits until the police detective is loosening his grip on chain links.

Then, he uses all his energy to break free and race back down the street again.

Klaus is pretty sure that he hears a swear, but he’s already too busy laughing to himself, calling for them to _come catch him, fuckers,_ because this time, he will not be caught.

He runs down the street, begins wondering whether he has the flexibility to get his hands from cuffed behind his back to in front of him instead, and then, turns back to make sure Ben is following after him.

Ben is, in fact, following him, with a mixed expression that could be exasperation, or amusement.

It’s kind of hard to tell sometimes.

“Fuck the system!” Klaus yells, and that’s when he runs straight into the door of a police cruiser.

It opens quickly, and it slams closed as Klaus hits it.

Klaus falls back, and for a moment everything is black. Then, the world reappears in a dizzying kaleidoscope of colour, and it’s hard to really realise what’s just happened.

“This is police brutality,” he cries, finally. Ben, leaning over him, can hardly resist a laugh, but somehow, he does. “Ben, did you _see.”_

“Oh yeah,” Ben says, and he has to swallow to avoid sniggering. “I saw.”

“Violence,” Klaus says, “they’re so violent.”

* * *

“So yeah,” Klaus says finally, glancing up at Diego. “That’s the story, I suppose.”

Diego looks like he doesn’t know how to respond. Finally, mouth a tight line, he mutters, “so that’s why you’ve got bandages on your head.”

“That’s what you’re taking from this?”

“How do you not have a concussion?” Diego says, ignoring him.

Klaus crosses his arms. He says, “Really, that’s all you have to say to this?”

His brother considers him for a moment, and then, slowly shrugs, as if to say that he’s got nothing else _to_ say.

“Well, I think you should be apologising, really, Diego!” Klaus says. “You’re the reason we’re in this mess!”

“I am?”

“Yes. If you hadn’t had the knives we’d have never been arrested. What’s _wrong with you?”_

Diego very slowly, very carefully, lifts his hand up, and pinches the bridge of his nose. Then, he says, “Klaus?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re an idiot.”

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: A forklift can't drive any faster than 8 mph. The fastest human can run 27.8 mph. Just... for reference with that one scene.


End file.
